


Sherlock's Prodigy

by Elri



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, No Angst, Post-Reichenbach, ok maybe a little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elri/pseuds/Elri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John visits Sherlock's grave and makes an unexpected friend</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Happenstance

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start reading I should tell you this was all started in January 2013, long before season 3  
> you can also read the chapters on my tumblr and deviantart accounts
> 
> http://deforest-of-kelley.tumblr.com/post/39856404183/an-unexpected-happenstance  
> http://giggleninny.deviantart.com/art/An-Unexpected-Happenstance-337659616
> 
> this is also all self-edited so if you see a mistake please let me know

John visited Sherlock’s grave once a week. He used to go more but a small part of his brain (that sounded a bit like Sherlock) had said that he couldn’t sit around grieving forever. At first, he’d challenged it like he would have Sherlock, but as time went on he’d realized it was right. So he’d picked himself up and started putting his life into some semblance of order. He couldn’t get things back to normal. He wasn’t even sure what normal was anymore. At one point it had meant body parts in the kitchen and text at work calling him away. Molly had disposed of the body parts for him and there was no one left to pull him from the hospital. Now John began to focus all of his time on his patients. It had been hard at first as he wondered what dirty little secret their sleeves or their haircut might reveal but he soon realized two things: if they did have a secret, he'd never figure it out, and the person who might have told him wasn't here. The realization had hit late one night as he was trying to occupy himself. John didn't date anymore. He couldn't bear the thought of bringing his date back to the flat where he still lived (despite John constantly telling him to piss off, Mycroft made sure the rent was paid in full and on time) and having them ask questions only to watch their faces change as he told them his flat mate used to be Sherlock Holmes. Just over a year ago, everyone had known his name and they were practically singing his praises. Now, they still knew his name but he was only talked about in hushed whispers as the fake genius. John defended him every chance he got but he knew he'd never be able to make them really understand.   
Two months ago, on the anniversary of Sherlock's fall, Lestrade had stopped by to see how John was doing. John had spent ten minutes yelling at the DI for listening to Donovan and Anderson. It wasn't until he'd paused to breathe that he'd begun to observe Greg, not just see him. The man was broken, just like John only his showed. The clothes he was wearing looked like he'd slept in them, his shoes didn't match, there was a five o clock shadow forming on his jaw and dark circles under his eyes.  
"I'm sorry, John."  
The anger had melted and John had put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "I know."  
They'd stayed up letting tea get cold and passing Sherlock stories back and forth. It was like the nights they'd spent at pubs except there weren't just stories about how Sherlock had driven them crazy, there were also stories that made them smile. Lestrade even pulled up the video from when Sherlock had been drugged by Irene Adler. They hadn't laughed like they would've if Sherlock was still around but it did lift their spirits. Around eleven Lestrade said he'd better get going. He and his wife were finalizing their divorce and they'd finished dividing the furniture. Lestrade wanted to make sure his soon-to-be ex didn't try to take anything of his with her when her lover came to pick her up.  
"The bastard got it right." Lestrade had said with a small smile as he put his jacket on, "She was sleeping with the teacher. Bloody git. Take care mate."   
John thought about that night as he walked to the cemetery. Even though his leg sometimes gave him trouble, he was determined not to let it take over again. He pushed open the gate and began waking the familiar path to the same black headstone. But something was different today: there was someone else already there. The figure sat in front of the headstone, arms on knees like they were talking to it. For a fleeting moment, John thought it might be Sherlock but no, the person was too small and the curly hair was longer than Sherlock would have ever grown his, not to mention blonde, like John's had been when he was younger. The young woman, as John realized she was feminine, glanced at John but must not have known who he was because she continued her 'conversation' with the grave. Curious, John continued walking in the row behind her, like he was going to a different grave. She stopped talking as he got closer but didn't acknowledge him further.   
He stopped a few feet away, pretending to notice the headstone she was looking at as though he didn't know exactly which one it was. "Was he a friend of yours?" John finally asked.  
"Yes, I suppose so. Though I wouldn't say I was his friend. I'm not sure what I was to him."  
"Family?"  
She chuckled, "Oh god no. We both cringed too much at the thought of our blood relatives to ever consider someone else a surrogate."  
John's curiosity got the better of him and he decided to test this strange teen, "He was barking mad whatever he was."  
She was on her feet in a flash, whirling to confront this stranger who had interrupted her, "Sherlock Holmes was the greatest man in London, maybe even the world! How dare you-!" She cut off as she took in the man before her. She sighed, "You must be John Watson. You got very lucky, I was about to chin you."  
"Who are you, exactly?"  
She tucked a curl behind her ear and held out her hand, "Lilly Cheryl. I guess you could say I was Sherlock's prodigy."


	2. Sherlock's Prodigy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Lilly have a long talk and she has something to show him

John was taken aback, “I’m sorry, what?”  
Lilly smiled, “It’s a long story. Tell you what, buy me a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you the whole thing. But first,” She turned back to the tombstone, “I’ll give you a minute. Where should we meet up?”  
"Angelo’s in twenty minutes?"  
She nodded, “See you there.” She left the cemetery and John heard a motorcycle start up and pull away.

 

He stayed at the grave for a bit, trying to figure out what just happened. After coming up blank, he put a hand on Sherlock’s tombstone and left. When he arrived at Angelo’s, Lilly was sitting there talking animatedly with the owner himself. As John got closer, he realized they were speaking in what he presumed to be Italian. Angelo greeted John warmly then said goodbye to Lilly.  
As John took his seat, she said “I hope you don’t mind but I ordered for you. You haven’t eaten yet today though you are eating more than you used to.”  
"How do you know that?"  
"Your clothes are a few years old but they’re too big meaning you’ve lost weight. Your face is healthy though so you’ve been eating relatively well for at least a month. There are fresh circles under your eyes which means you had a hard time sleeping last night which is why you were at the cemetery fairly early. Most people don’t eat first thing in the morning if they’re going to visit the grave of someone they cared about, and especially not if they’ve had bad dreams."  
"Who said I had bad dreams?"  
"It’s written all over your face. I’ve been around several people who can’t sleep through the night and they all have the same worn-out look you wore at the cemetery."  
"Speaking of, what were you doing-"  
"Talking to Sherlock’s headstone? Like I said, I was sort of his prodigy. I’d stopped by just to say hello and ended up staying longer than I’d planned."  
"How come I’ve never seen you before?"  
"Do you mean at the cemetery or at all?"  
"Both, I guess."  
"We were fairly close. We weren’t exactly friends, and I wouldn’t dare call us family, but we got along well. I met him a while back, ten years today in fact, that’s why I was there. He taught me how to use my skills to deduce people and I even shadowed him on his cases. Angelo’s was one of them in fact. Then he encouraged me to start taking on my own cases and it turned out there were a lot of people in my area who wanted someone to at least try to help them. I don’t pick and choose my cases the way he did, there are very few that come up that I won’t touch. And they just keep coming. I hadn’t seen Sherlock for month when you came around. I still stopped by occasionally to get a second opinion but the visits were usually very short. They all started the same though: I’d let myself in either through the door or an open window, hand him the case notes, he’d tell me to stop second-guessing myself, I’d tell him I can’t afford to make a mistake and he’d review the case. I usually left after that, he was never one for socializing. Though I did notice things were different after you came along."  
"Different how?"  
"I’m not sure. He just seemed to care more. Not about anything specific, he just cared. Even asked how I was doing one day. I was shocked but I didn’t comment because I didn’t want him to take it back. I actually stayed for tea that day. You two were good for each other."  
"You’re not the only one who thinks so. People kept thinking we were together."  
Lilly laughed, “What did Sherlock have to say about that?”  
"Nothing, he just ignored it."  
Her eyebrow quirked, “The man who never missed an opportunity to correct someone, thereby humiliating them, never said anything when you two were assumed to be together?”  
"We’re not! We weren’t. I’m not gay! I keep telling people that but no one listens."  
"The man doth protest too much, methinks. Why not ignore it? Do you think it’s offensive to be gay?"  
"No, of course not. My sister’s gay."  
"Then why do you care? People who assume two men can’t be flat mates without shagging each other are idiots. Their opinions shouldn’t matter to you."  
"It’s not that, it’s the fact that no one even bothered to ask they just assumed."  
"They’re idiots," Lilly repeated, "The only people you should listen to are the ones who matter to you. The people you care about."  
"Caring is not an advantage." John said bitterly.  
Lilly was unfazed, “You don’t believe that for a second. Those are Mycroft’s words, and I don’t think you want to end up like him.”  
"You’ve met Mycroft?"  
"Not exactly. Sherlock warned me about him when we first started working together and I’ve been successfully avoiding him ever since."  
"Then how did you know what he said?"  
"Sherlock said it once. He was being particularly moody that day and I don’t remember why or what brought this up but the look on his face after he said it told me all I needed to know."  
"But you’ve never actually met Mycroft? How long did you say you’ve known Sherlock?"  
"Ten years today."  
John studied Lilly, “How old are you?”  
"Seventeen." Lilly watched all the pieces click together. "I can see I’ve brought more questions than answers but here’s our meal. Eat first, we can talk later." John didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t hungry. Angelo and Lilly exchanged a few more words in Italian while John listened with the oddest feeling they were talking about him. When Angelo left, Lilly turned to the meal before them and scooped a healthy portion of chicken parmesan onto a plate. "Here, this is my favorite dish."  
When John finished his he slid the plate aside. Lilly looked up from where she had been picking at her portion and slid it aside as well.  
"Aren’t you going to finish that?"  
She smirked, “I’m a hypocrite; I rarely eat.”  
"That sounds familiar."  
"Yes but we had two very different situations. He chose not to eat, I was used to it."  
"What do you mean?"  
"I ran away from home when I was five. Two years later I met Sherlock but I’ve still lived on the streets most of my life. It started with just seeing each other every now and then when he came to the ‘other side’ of town but we grew closer when he realized I saw the things he saw. Fast forward a few years and Lestrade comes along. I don’t think he knows about me. I was always near the crime scenes Sherlock went to but I was never behind the tape. Cops make me nervous and besides, it was hard enough for Lestrade to convince them to let Sherlock onto crime scenes even without a street rat trailing behind. We worked well together, I even helped him set up the homeless network when he came up with the idea for it. I don’t know if he ever realized it, but he helped a lot of people with it. There are a lot of lost souls out there looking to feel needed again. Sherlock gave that back to them. It gave some of them that extra push they needed to turn their lives around."  
"He definitely changed lives." John agreed. "He changed mine."  
"Mine too. I was so scared before I met him. I would look at people and know all kinds of things about them but I didn’t know how or why I knew them. Then I ran into Sherlock. Quite literally actually. I don’t remember why I was running I just remember that one minute I’m flying down an alley and the next I’ve collided with a tall dark figure. Then there’s a voice, deep but scratchy so a smoker, saying ‘Do try to watch where you’re going.’  
"Without even thinking, I glanced at him and said, ‘Well maybe if you weren’t so intent on getting home to kill your lungs and inject your next fix you would have seen me coming.’  
'What?'  
'You heard me.' He'd started staring at me and it was making me uncomfortable so I attempted to make a quick escape. 'Love to stay and chat but time is wasting.' He grabbed my arm as I tried to skirt around him, 'You should know that I have friends in this neighborhood and that one scream will bring them running.'  
'How did you know I inject?'  
'Why would you keep coming here if you don't use?'  
'I didn't ask how you knew I used I asked how you knew I injected.'  
'I didn't, I guessed.'  
'You knew. How?'  
'I don't know!' I finally screamed at him, 'I saw you and I just knew. I've done it before and I don't know how it happens.' I might have been crying at this point but I didn't notice because his next question caught me off guard. Most people just let it go but not him.  
'How long has this been going on?'  
'As long as I can remember.'  
'Which is how long?'  
'Why do you care?'  
'Because you're right.'  
'Well I knew that. You wouldn't have reacted like that if I was wrong.'  
'How long has this been happening?' He asked again.  
'Maybe four years? Since I was at least three.'  
'How old are you?'  
'Not sure. What's the date?' He told me. 'So I'm seven then. I guess I should remember that.'  
'You haven't been on the streets for very long, only about two years.'  
'So?'  
'Just an observation.'  
"I looked at him, the same way he was looking at me, and I saw an understanding in his eyes that I’d never seen in anyone else. Then I saw the movements of his eyes from my face, to my sleeves, to my trousers, and realized he was analyzing me. ‘Stop that.’ I said, ‘It’s unnerving.’  
'What do you mean?'  
'I feel like you're figuring out every last thing about me and I don't even know your name.'  
'Sherlock Holmes.'  
"I grinned, ‘Sherlock? That’s a name you don’t hear every day.’  
'So I've been told.'  
I held my hand out, ‘Lilly Sheril.’ He took my hand and I pulled his arm close and pulled up the sleeve. If he was surprised he didn’t show it as I ran a finger along the track marks on his pale arm. ‘You really shouldn’t do this you know. It could seriously damage your brain.’  
'I am well aware of the effects of cocaine.'  
'Then you're an idiot.'  
'Why do you say that?'  
'Only an idiot would deliberately try to destroy a mind like yours.'  
'I suppose you've never indulged then?'  
'You tell me.' I pulled up my sleeves to show him my arms. 'Besides, what does that have to do with anything?'  
'I was testing to see if you were an idiot.'  
'Why would…?' I trailed off as I realized what he was saying. 'You think I have a mind like yours.'  
'And what do you think 'a mind like mine' is?'  
'Clever. And apparently stupid at the same time.'  
'What makes you think I'm clever?'  
'It's in your eyes.' Then a gunshot rang through the air. 'Damn, you might want to get out of here. The police will be here any minute.'  
'What makes you so sure?'  
'Gunshots, the fastest way to summon the police.' Sure enough, sirens began wailing in the distance. 'Well, it was nice meeting you.' I darted away and scrambled up the nearest fire escape. I know that neighborhood like the back of my hand and was quickly on the other side of town and far from Sherlock Holmes. At the time, I didn't know if I'd ever see him again, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to. A few days later though, he was back. I was hanging around on a rooftop when I heard a signal whistle from down below.  
"I leaned over the edge and saw Bernard, one of the first friends I’d made on the streets, waving at me. ‘There’s a junkie here asking around for you.’  
'Tall, pale, little unnerving?'  
'You know him then?'  
'Sort of. I'm coming down.' I met Sherlock at the corner and he took me to a small cafe for coffee. We talked about how we ended up on the other side of town and about our shared ability for the most part. He seemed very interested in me. I know I should have found it unsettling, maybe even a little creepy, but there was something about him that made it seem not so bad. I realized later that I trusted him because he understood me. He knew about having a difficult family, he knew about feeling like you didn't belong, but more than that, he knew how it felt to see everything.” Lilly smiled, lost in her memories. “God I miss him.”  
"Do you think we’ll ever see him again?" John had never asked anyone this before. No one knew what he had said that day at the graveyard, what he had asked of Sherlock.  
Lilly sighed, “I wish I could believe we might, but I’ve been over it a thousand times in my head and there’s no way he could have faked it alone. I’ve asked around but he didn’t turn to anyone I know of for help. My heart tells me not to give up on him but my head is stronger, and it’s telling me to let go. Sherlock was a genius, but he wasn’t a miracle worker.”  
"I’m glad someone still believes in him. I was beginning to think I was the only one."  
Lilly looked confused for a moment before smiling and standing, “There’s something you need to see.” She put some notes on the table and motioned for John to follow her. They stood outside of the restaurant for a bit while Lilly stood, eyes closed, apparently charting a path in her head. John was reminded of another time he’d stood beside someone with a map of London in their head. “Right then,” Lilly said, snapping both of them out of their reveries, “Off we go.”  
"Shouldn’t we get a cab?" John asked as they started off down the street.  
"Not for where we’re going," Lilly replied. "A cab would get stuck in traffic and slow us down. Besides, why miss out on this gorgeous day?" As she spoke, some of the clouds moved away from the sun, bathing them in light. She smiled at John, "You up for a run?"  
"It’s been a while but I think I can handle it."  
"Just try to keep up." She grinned and took off. John followed, feeling some of the familiar rush seep into his blood. It was different than running with Sherlock though; he would keep going and trust that John was still there, while Lilly stopped before changing directions to make sure he knew where she was going. She stopped outside of an alley way and she and John stood catching their breaths for a minute. "You’re not limping anymore." Lilly pointed out. There was a glint in her eyes that told John she’d known, just like Sherlock had, that the limp was only psychosomatic, and that it had been Sherlock who helped him get rid of it.  
John smiled, “What did you want to show me?”  
"Down this way." Lilly led him down the alley which, much to John’s surprised, opened onto a rather large area lined by brick walls. But it wasn’t the walls that caught his attention, it was what was on them.  
 _I believe in Sherlock Holmes_  
 _I believe_  
 _John Watson is not alone_  
 _Richard Brook is a lie_  
 _Sherlock is real_  
 _Watson’s Warriors_  
 _The papers lied_  
 _Moriarty was real_  
 _Damn Kitty Riley_  
 _We believe_  
John began tearing up as he looked around. Another wall said TAG IF YOU BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES and the tags continued from that wall onto the next. They weren’t all faded either. The colors ranged from at least a year old to one that was still glistening.  
"Who did this?" John asked.  
"We did. The whole Network, and some from the far side. It started when I put the TAG IF YOU BELIEVE message up and it spread through the London Underground faster than rats when the light comes on.” She took John’s hand as they continued to stare up at the writing on the wall. “You’re not alone, John, you never were.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened with the italics, they just stopped working. Sorry guys :/


	3. Fighting for Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John gets to see Sherlock's legacy

John and Lilly bonded instantly. She was a lot like Sherlock only more, human. One would think that after running away at five and spending twelve years on the streets she would be some hardened juvenile delinquent, but nothing could have been further from the truth. It was through Lilly that John met the rest of the Homeless Network, or as they now preferred, Watson’s Warriors. He was embarrassed at first, saying he wasn’t worth fighting for, but then and old man stood and changed his mind. There was a shelter in the neighborhood that was really just an open building with basic facilities. Most of the furniture was chairs that had been found and refurbished as best as possible for mothers with small children and older folks, as well as a handful of tables that were also used as seats. A platform had been installed on one side of the room but that’s not where John was. He was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by people. The chairs had been pulled up close to allow the people in them a better view, so when the old man stood, John was looking up at him.

"I served during a war we had no business being in," He said, leaning on his cane with one hand as he produced his dog tags with the other. "I took a bullet protecting a dying man. There are some who call me a hero, and there are those who call me a fool. My wife called me both. But she loved me anyway. I lost her, three years ago, after putting her in a hospital, because someone didn’t do their job." Silence had enveloped the room as the old man’s voice carried over. Some had clearly heard this story before but everyone listened closely, wondering why he was telling it. "I tried to tell the hospital what happened but as far as they were concerned her years had caught up to her and I was a paranoid old man. I’d started to believe they were right. Then this little imp showed up," He nodded at Lilly who was near the back of the group, sitting on a table, "And told me there was a man who could figure out the truth. That is how I met Sherlock Holmes, the man who found the truth. That is why I believe in him. Now all the world thinks he’s a lie. Except for you. You and your blog speak the truth, and that is something worth fighting for." He sat down again, his point made.

Almost instantly, a teen with matted hair and a lip piercing was on his feet. “Sherlock put my dad up the river after the wanker nearly beat my sister to death. yeah mum kicked me out, but Ally was safe. Sherlock cared about protecting people, you know? And you care about protecting him so I guess that’s what I’m fighting for.”

After him, a young woman stood up. “My old boss was a right tosser. He harassed all of the women and a couple of the younger men but he must have had powerful friends because whenever anyone tried to report him they were blown off. I kept fighting him and he began skimming my paycheck and making threats. Lilly, bless her heart, was running around with Sherlock at the time so she didn’t know anything was wrong until I came back from work with a handprint on my cheek. She took one look and saw everything. Within a week, the bastard had been sacked and all the workers were pressing charges. Last I heard, he’s serving community service somewhere. Sherlock stood for justice, and you’re trying to do him justice. I’ll fight for that.”

More and more people stood to tell their stories. At some point, Lilly slipped out but John didn’t notice until the last person had spoken. As soon as he could, he ducked out the back door and found her smoking in the alley. “You shouldn’t do that you know.”

"It’s just paper." She pulled out a few more to show him. "I couldn’t stand the smell of cigarettes and got Sherlock to at least cut back as soon as I could. Then I introduced him to nicotine patches so he’d stop complaining."

"Guess I should thank you for that. Given the number of times he used the patches and the number he used at one time, I can only imagine what the flat would’ve smelled like if he’d still been smoking."

"It was bad," Lilly agreed. "I’m surprised Mrs. Hudson never had to have the place fumigated."

"Hang on, how long was Sherlock living there before I moved in?"

Lilly shrugged, “Hard to say. I never saw the place until a few years after I met him and even then, the clutter got moved around so much it was hard to tell how long anything had been there. I think he lived on Montague Street for a few years prior.”

"If he’d been there for years, why did he suddenly need a flat mate?"

"Maybe money got tight?"

"He wore tailored suits."

"Yes, but he didn’t buy a new one every week. He’s used to them and they make him seem older so people are more likely to take him seriously. Besides," She gave John a Cheshire grin, "He knew how he looked in them."

"He once went to Buckingham Palace in a sheet, I don’t think he was very concerned with appearances."

"Appearances, yes; modesty, no."

"He wasn’t wearing any pants."

Lilly burst out laughing. He had caught her off guard and she was so overwhelmed with exhilaration that she doubled over. John chuckled as well and watched as the seventeen-year-old lost the serene air that made her youth seem a long forgotten memory. “Please tell me,” she finally managed to say, “That you weren’t there to see the queen?”

"No, thank god. Mycroft had called us in for a delicate matter that required more leg work than he was willing to put out."

"I’m sure he was thrilled."

"Ecstatic."

John and Lilly stayed in the alley as he told her that story along with many others. Followers of his blog had been entertained by the cases Sherlock had worked but it was different with Lilly. Sure Lestrade had known Sherlock before John and had dealt with him as well, but Lilly and John had dealt with every personality trait, every mood Sherlock had thrown at them. They’d understood Sherlock; John from proximity, Lilly from empathy. John found himself telling her stories that he didn’t normally share about life with Sherlock Holmes and she reciprocated with stories of the early years, before he’d gotten his job with Scotland Yard. It wasn’t until the streetlamps flickered on that they realized how late it was.

"I suppose you’d better get going." Lilly said. "I’ll walk you to the main road, you’ll never get a cab on these streets."

"It’s fine, you don’t have to."

"Trust me John, I do. I’ve been doing a good job cleaning up the neighborhood but I’m not stupid. I know it’s still not safe out there for everyone, but if I can keep one more person from getting mugged, maybe, just maybe, it’ll start to be it."

"I’m not going to get mugged," John assured her. "And if anyone tries to I’ll handle it. I was in the army, I can protect myself."

"You have training, but they’ll probably have a knife."

John reached behind him and pulled his gun out of his waistband, “I think I can handle that.”

Lilly blanched and closed her eyes. “Please, John,” She said softly, “No more gunshots. Besides, by the time you got that out there’d be a knife in your chest. I’m not making that call John.”

John put the gun away, “So do you plan to walk beside me, hold my hand, and scare away the monsters?” He was teasing and she knew it.

"Why, are you still afraid of the dark, soldier man? Would you like me to hold your hand?"

"Only if  _you_  need to, of course.”

"Of course." Lilly repeated with a playful smirk. Almost at the same time, however, both their faces fell. The easy banter had brought to mind other conversations with someone else. Wordlessly, Lilly held out her hand and John took it, as much for himself as for her. In remembrance of a shared loss, they sought comfort in each other’s existence.

As they walked together, John asked, “So, I’m going back to the flat, and you are…?”

"I sleep around." Lilly responded. Instantly, she realized what she’d said and began blushing a bright red.

John played it off, “Well I hope you’re using protection.”

"Shut up."

"I’m just saying, things can get pretty sticky if you’re not careful."

"My god, what are you, twelve?"

"I know I can feel strained after a few nights."

"Have you tried using your other hand?" Lilly quipped in an attempt to shut him up. It worked, and Lilly laughed as John blushed. "Don’t mess with a street rat, John, we bite and scratch when we have to."

"Still, that was a little below the belt, don’t you think?"

"I told you to shut up. You brought it upon yourself."

"You started it."

"It was a slip of the tongue! You know that wasn’t what I meant!"

John chuckled, “So where  _do_  you spend the night?”

"Here and there. It depends on where I am and where I can get to."

"Where are you sleeping tonight?"

Lilly looked at John, “Dr. Watson, are you inviting me to spend the night?”

"I’m inviting you to sleep on a couch instead of a floor."

"Why?"

"Because friends protect people."

Lilly stopped abruptly and let John’s hand fall from hers. When he turned back, she was staring at nothing but in her eyes John could see the same haunted look that soldiers got when they remembered the battlefield. “Lilly?” Whatever she was seeing made her flinch. “Lilly!” John said again, louder this time. She snapped out of it and looked up at John. “Are you okay?” For a moment, it seemed she was going to brush it off. Then her whole body wilted a little and she shook her head. John put an arm around her shoulders and they continued on to the main road where they caught a cab back to the flat. John was digging for his key when Lilly produced one of her own. “When did you get that?”

"When Mrs. Hudson almost called the police because I was practicing my lock-picking skills."

"Why didn’t you just knock?"

"It was early, I didn’t want to wake her up."

"So instead you scared the hell out of the poor woman?"

"Trust me, John, I was in more danger than she was."

"She wouldn’t have hurt you."

"Who, dear?" John and Lilly were standing in the hall and Mrs. Hudson had come to see who was talking to. When she saw Lilly standing shyly behind John she gave a small cry of delight. "Lilly! How have you been?" She wrapped the teen in a hug that was warmly, if awkwardly, returned. "I was wondering when you two would meet. Let me look at you." She held Lilly at arm’s length, "Still a blooming beauty." She cupped her chin gently, "Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in ages." Lilly blushed and ducked her head. "Always the strong and silent type. I’ll let you two go then." As Lilly ducked upstairs, Mrs. Hudson tugged on John’s sleeve, "Take care of her," She whispered, "You’ll need her as much as she’ll need you."

Lilly was waiting for John at the top of the stairs. “Strong and silent type?” John asked as he opened the door to the flat.

"I never know what to say to her." Lilly admitted, "I don’t know how to respond to affection."

"Everyone at the shelter seemed to care about you a lot." John pointed out.

"Why do you think I had to slip out? I care about other people because I don’t want to see them go through the same hell I did. But having been through that hell, I’m very careful about letting people get close to me."

"I thought you didn’t believe in ‘caring is not an advantage’?" John went to put the kettle on.

"I said  _you_  didn’t, and I also said I’m a hypocrite.”

"If you keep that up,  _you’re_  the one who’ll end up like Mycroft.” She cringed and John remembered the incident in the alley. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

She shook her head, “Maybe someday, but not today.” Instead, they sat on the couch and talked about books, television, news, anything they could think of.

When John got up to refill their cups, she crossed the room and picked up Sherlock’s violin. He came back to find her plucking the strings and turning the pegs to tune it. The firelight set her face aglow, bringing out her pale eyes and prominent cheekbones. She looked like Sherlock’s younger sister.  _Or daughter_ , John mused. “Do you play?”

She turned, the catching the light in her curls, “Yes, but not this one.” She finished tuning the violin and set it back down by Sherlock’s chair. “I learned the violin in two days,” she said, half in the past, “Sherlock was bored so I asked him to teach me. Challenged him, really. Once that was done we set out to teach me piano. I caught on to that much quicker.”

"Where did you get a piano?"

"The owner of a music hall owed us a favor so he let us in to practice."

"Were you on the stage?"

"Yep, curtain up and everything. It was incredible to hear the notes carry out over the open space. Sherlock brought his violin the next day and we spent hours just composing."

"I wish I’d been there to hear it."

"I don’t even remember what it sounded like. I just remember getting lost in the music to the point where we didn’t notice the musicians coming in to practice until we paused and heard clapping on the other side of the theater." Lilly paused for a moment before laughing, "I was so scared that I jumped up and ran behind Sherlock. One of the musicians even asked if I was his daughter. He was stunned, and I think a little insulted, by the woman’s ‘blatant stupidity.’ ‘Anyone who mistakes a blonde child to be my own and carries their instrument like  _that_  is clearly incompetent which is probably why you haven’t had a steady relationship in years, though I suspect your penchant for ‘alternative clubs’ is also a factor.’ He then turned with a flair and made this grand exit with me scurrying close behind him. I could feel him looking at me for the rest of the day, trying to figure out what’d made her say that. I don’t think he ever got his answer.”

"It’s in the cheekbones." John told her.

Lilly considered this for a minute before turning to look in the mirror above the fireplace. John watched her reflection as her sharp eyes flickered over her features. Their movement was familiar to John, as was the furrow that appeared between them when she couldn’t find what she was looking for. She shook her head, “It’s not there.”

John chose not to argue with her. He looked at the clock, “I’ll get you a blanket for the couch.” Lilly nodded but didn’t say anything the rest of the night. When John went to bed, she was curled into a ball on the couch, her coat and jacket draped over the back, shoes on the floor. The next morning, John came downstairs to find clothes and owner gone. The blanket was folded on the couch with a note.

_John-_

_Last night you asked me ‘what happened’ and that’s a question I’ve been avoiding for a long time. It’s one of many things I don’t want to face, so I’m going to do what I do best:_

_Run._

_I’m so sorry_

_Lilly_


	4. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets revealed in a very short chapter

John headed straight to the shelter to find Lilly but no one had seen her since last night.

"We thought she was with you."

One man gave him the address of a bar. Lilly rented out the room above it as sort of an office space. The owner of the bar, a woman who clearly wouldn’t tolerate any nonsense, recognized John immediately and took him up to the room. “I haven’t seen her in a few days.” She said, “But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been here. That girl knows how not to be seen. If she doesn’t want to be found, you won’t find her until she does.” She knocked on the door, “Lilly? John’s here to see you.” There was no answer. She opened the door and they peeked. There was a desk and chair, two arm chairs, and a few lamps, but no Lilly. “Don’t worry too much about her,” The woman said as they headed back down to the bar. “She’s proved more than once that she can take care of herself.”

"Thank you." John said. He walked outside into a drizzle and hailed a cab. "Baker Street," He said, settling back for the ride. On the way they passed the cemetery and John suddenly got an idea, "Actually, here’s good." He paid the cabbie and got out, walking up to the gates of the cemetery. Sure enough, there was a figure standing at Sherlock’s grave. As John got closer he noticed her hair was plastered to her forehead, but he knew it wasn’t rain she was wiping out of her eyes. "You okay?" He asked when he reached her.

"I’m a coward. I always have been. Sherlock came to me when Moriarty first started his game. When he went to the pool to meet Moriarty, I was in a nearby building with a sniper rifle, and orders to shoot only if something happened to him. Then you appeared and things got complicated. I couldn’t read Sherlock’s lips but I could read yours, and I saw you blinking out SOS in Morse code. Then Moriarty showed up. I saw most of what happened through the scope. When it was all over, I told Sherlock I didn’t want anything to do with Moriarty, and I told him he should back out as well. I should’ve known he wouldn’t listen. I should’ve been there with him, on the roof. I should’ve have been with him the entire time, protected him somehow. But I ran, just like I always do."

John stepped forward and held out his hand, “You don’t have to keep running.” There, in his hand, was a key on a chain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if any of you are going 'what the hell' about the whole Lilly being at the pool thing, I'll cover that in the last chapter


	5. The DI and the Street Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically what it says in the title, Lestrade gets to meet Lilly

Lilly didn’t move in at Baker Street but there wasn’t a week that went by without at least one visit. At first they just stayed in the flat but when John got some time off Lilly insisted on taking him out to ‘see the sights.’ She assured John it wasn’t what he thought it was and she was right. They walked around the less busy parts of London, passing small stores with apartments above them where the owners probably lived. As they walked, John began to notice two things: one, a lot of people, especially the shopkeepers, recognized Lilly and waved at her; two, they all had ‘Watson’s Warriors’ flyers in their windows. One man was standing outside talking to a group of people but he stopped and waved when he saw Lilly.

As they got closer, the man put an arm around Lilly’s shoulders and said, “This is the girl you need to talk to. She’s the leader of our campaign.”

"So you’re the one who started this crazy movement?"

"Why do you say crazy?"

"You’re asking people to believe in Sherlock Holmes. It’s mad."

Lilly didn’t snap at him. She smiled softly, “We’re all mad here.” She quoted.

"Yeah but he was the Mad Hatter."

"Then I guess I’m the March Hare, madder than even he."

"You must be if you believe in him."

"Why’s that?"

"He was a fraud, it was all over the papers."

"The paper’s job is to sell the story first, get the facts later."

"So you think he really was some kind of psychic or whatever?"

Lilly didn’t answer right away. She tilted her head and looked at the man for a minute. “What does your girlfriend think? I’d tell you to ask your wife but she’s probably busy signing the divorce papers right?” He was dumbstruck and she smiled, but it wasn’t mean or condescending, it was almost sad. “Every song is made of individual notes; the still visible tan lines from a missing ring, the clean cut jaw line, the watch that’s smaller than what you’re used to, they sing to me. And Sherlock Holmes taught me to listen. If you’ll excuse me,” She stepped past the people to talk to a motorcyclist who had pulled up to the curb and signaled to her.

The shopkeeper chuckled as the crowd dispersed, “She doesn’t say much but when she does she makes it count. You must be John Watson; I’m Elijah Parker, it’s nice to finally meet you.” He held out his hand.

John shook the man’s hand, he had a firm grip. “I take it you’re one of ‘Watson’s Warriors’?”

"You saw that?" He turned to his window, "Lilly helped me out when no one else could; if she thinks you’re worth fighting for, I trust her judgment."

"She’s something else isn’t she?"

"That she is." They both turned to look at her.

She was whispering urgently to the motorcycle rider and her body language was tense. She glanced over at John briefly before returning to her conversation. Finally she said, “Alright, thanks Carter.”

"Friend of yours?" John asked as he drove off.

"Trusted source," She replied absently.

"Everything alright?"

"I don’t know," She admitted, "Can you meet me at the shelter tonight?"

"What’s going on?"

"I’ll let you know when I figure it out."

"Is it going to be dangerous?"

"I don’t know, John, I just don’t know."

***

"Seriously John, what are we doing here?" Lestrade asked as they walked to the shelter.

"I’ve already told you everything I know."

"An old friend of Sherlock’s, who I’ve never met, asked you to meet them at this shelter, but they didn’t tell you anything else. That’s not much."

"That’s all I’ve got."

"How do you know you can trust this person?"

"They’ve never given me a reason not to."

"Fair enough, but what am I doing here?"

"I was wondering the same thing." Lilly’s voice came from above and, when they looked up, they saw her perched on a fire escape. "What’s he doing here, John?"

She practically glared at Lestrade.

"It’s Lestrade."

"I know who he is, what is he doing here?"

"I’m sorry, who are you?" The DI asked.

"No one."

"Lilly!" John reprimanded her.

"He’s a cop!"

"Detective!" Lestrade corrected.

"Law enforcement."

John interjects, “We’re not doing anything illegal are we?”

"No," Lilly concedes. "But that’s not the point. I’m a street rat, John, we can smell  a badge a mile away and we run.”

"Hold on," Lestrade said, "What’s going on?"

"Nothing!" Lilly snapped.

"Look here, I don’t know who you are, how you know me, or what I’m doing here, but I do know that I’ve been dragged to the other side of town because John trusts you and it might be dangerous, so I deserve to know something."

Lilly glared at him, still upset that he was here, more upset that he had a point. “Lilly,” John said, half scolding, “Be nice.”

She looked from him to Lestrade and sighed, “Fine, let’s go.” She jumped down and started walking.

"Were you waiting for us?"

"I was waiting for  _you_  at the shelter but when I heard you were here with a cop I came to see for myself.”

"Detective." Lestrade said again.

"Badge with a gun."

"Enough, both of you. Now, would you mind telling me where we’re going?"

"There’s a man I’ve been keeping an eye on who, according to Carter, has been asking around about potentially lethal drugs. I think he might try to kill himself."

"What do you plan to do?"

They stopped outside a sorry excuse for an apartment building. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. He’s a soldier. I was wondering if you would talk to him first.” She didn’t meet John’s eyes, “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

"Which room?"

John went up to talk to the man, leaving Lilly and Lestrade standing in awkward silence on the street. Well, awkward for Lestrade because Lilly was pointedly ignoring him. Finally he decided to try and break the ice, “So, Lilly right? Is there a last name?”

She glanced over at him, glaring a little, before saying, “Cheryl, Lilly Cheryl. I would spell it for you but there’s no point. I’m not in the system, any of them. Believe me, I’ve looked.”

"How did you get into our files?"

"Who said I got in?"

"You saw them somehow."

"So? I don’t have to explain myself to you."

"I could always arrest you."

"On what grounds?"

"Suspicion of treason for one."

"You’d have to catch me first, and I know these streets better than anyone."

"I have informants."

"I sent them to you."

"What makes you think they won’t turn?"

"What makes you think you can buy their loyalty?"

"You’d be surprised what people have done for a hot meal."

"You’d be surprised what I’ve done for less. We take care of our own, just like you. Whatever you may think of us, we stand together."

"I can see why Sherlock depended on you lot."

Lilly hadn’t moved but something in her visibly froze. “He may have depended on some of us a little too much.” She murmured.

Lestrade, thinking she meant him, flashed back to the guilt and self-loathing he’d felt after Sherlock’s fall. “Yeah.”

She turned to him, surprised, “Not you, never you. I think he could have relied on you a little more. You cared about him.”

"How do you know?"

"Because when Sherlock OD’d a little kid called your mobile in the middle of the night and said ‘Please help, it’s Sherlock, I think he’s dying,’ you came. You didn’t just send an ambulance or check up on him in the hospital, you got up in the middle of the night, came to Montague Street to help, and rode with him in the ambulance."

"Hold on, was that you on the phone? That was almost seven years ago, how old were you?"

"Eleven, give or take."

"How the hell did you get mixed up with Sherlock at eleven?"

"Actually it happened when I was seven. The irony is if it weren’t for his ‘habits’ we wouldn’t have met. I’m still glad he kicked them, I didn’t want to go through another incident like that."

"Where were you when it happened?"

"After I called you I stayed with him to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit and was out the window as you opened the door."

"Is that why we’ve never met? You always run off when I come near?"

"Pretty much yeah."

"I don’t bite you know."

"I do." She grinned, "Besides, I was a kid living on the streets; I still am. I’ve grown up learning to be wary of people, people with badges and guns especially."

"We’re not all bad, you know that right?"

"But that doesn’t mean you understand us. Not five minutes ago you thought you could buy their loyalty. I know you mean well but I think you need to learn a little more about your people."

"They’re not technically my people though."

"They work for you and, in some cases, they’d do whatever it takes to keep you safe. You’re almost one of us, and we take care of our own." Before Lestrade could respond, John came out of the building with another man who was carrying a bag with him. "All good?" Lilly asked.

"All good," The man said. "Thank you, Lilly. And thank you." He turned to John.

"Glad I could help."

"Where to?" Lilly asked, nodding towards the bag.

"Away from here."

"There’s a center a few blocks from here," Lestrade said, "I could show you if you’d like."

The man hesitated until Lilly pulled him over and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and turned to Lestrade, “Thank you.”

The four of them walked to the main road together and parted ways, Lilly and John heading towards Baker Street. When they reached the center, Lestrade and the man shook hands. “If you don’t mind my asking, what did she say to you?”

The man smiled a little, “Il ressemble à une belette, mais il sent comme un rat.”

"It looks like weasel but it smells like a rat? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means you can be trusted." Without another word, the man turned and walked into the shelter.

When Lestrade stopped by 221b a few days later, Lilly was walking out. “Wish I could stay but something came up.”

"Anything I can help with?"

"I got this, thanks!" She flashed a smile, a real, genuine smile, and was out the door.

"She’s a bit like him, isn’t she?" John said from the stairs. "Question is, did she get it from him, or vice versa?"

"Guess we’ll never know."


	6. Winds in the East, Mist Coming In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok fine the title came from Mary Poppins but it's relevant more or less and I think it counts as foreshadowing

When John woke up at three in the morning, he’d thought it was the storm. Until he heard knocking on the door. His bedroom door. Instincts kicking in, he grabbed his gun out of the side table and approached the door cautiously. Taking a deep breath, he stood to the side, put a hand on the knob, then twisted and pulled fast, moving to point the gun at the figure behind the door. A flash of lightning lit up Lilly’s shocked face as she jumped back, catching herself on the railing to keep from taking a tumble. Instead she ended up slipping on the next step and came crashing down as thunder roared outside.

"Lilly!" John threw his gun onto the bed and stepped down, crouching beside her. "Are you alright?"

She was soaking wet, “Yeah, just a bit shaken. S’pose that’s what I get for waking people up in the middle of the night.”

"Is everything ok?"

"I don’t know."

"So that’s a no then."

"Ok fine it’s a no but I’m not quite sure how it’s not ok."

"What’s happened?"

"I’m not sure…look it’s difficult to explain, I’d have an easier time showing you. I realize now that it’s late and with the storm outside now is not the best time and I’m sorry. I got wound up and just took off running." Now that she had calmed down she became more aware of her current condition and it looked like she was trying very hard to not start wringing out her clothes, "I should probably step into the water closet." Despite how tired, concerned, and slightly frustrated John was, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the look on Lilly’s face. "I know, I know, I look like a drowned rat. Go back to sleep, we can talk in the morning. Sorry again."

"Lilly," John caught her arm as she started down the stairs, "You wouldn’t have come running all the way here in this weather if it wasn’t important. Now, what’s going on?"

"I told you, I have to show you. But not now, it can wait."

"Are you sure?" It was the way she pulled back a little to reconsider and started chewing on her bottom lip that brought John fully awake. "Give me a second to change and then we can head out."

"John-"

"Nope, you came all this way and it wasn’t for nothing. I’ll be out in a minute." He ducked back into his room without letting her respond. A few minutes later he emerged, armed and ready, to find her standing at the bottom of the stairs still looking slightly embarrassed. "Alright then?"

Lilly looked up and her chest heaved as she sighed with a brief smile, accepting that he was not backing down. “Yeah, let’s go. And, John?” She added as he passed her to get his jacket, “Thank you.”

As soon as they hit the street they both turned their collars up against the wind. “Gotta love that London breeze ey?”

Lilly huffed, “Give me the damp underground any day. It gets down to your bones but at least the water only soaks you up to your knees if you’re lucky.”

"And if you’re not lucky?"

"You’re short."

John smiled at that, “Still, it can’t be healthy to be down there all the time.”

"It isn’t," She conceded. "That’s why we try to keep the shelter in good condition at all times. It’s not easy but it’s worth it to see the number of street deaths go down, especially in the winter."

John nodded and the continued on silently. Slowly, he began to recognize their surroundings. It was the same area Sherlock had taken him to when they had been searching for the golem. A different section of course, more tucked away, but still big an open. As they went further into the tunnels, Lilly passed him a torch and picked up an electric lantern that looked like a small spotlight from a hiding place in the walls. How was about to ask if they were almost there when she stopped dead in front of a blank wall. “Dead end,” John commented, “Did we take a wrong turn?”

Lilly stepped forward, he could see her mentally retracing every step they’d taken. “It was here when I left.”

"What? What are you looking for?"

"Anything." She put the light on a dry ledge and began a closer examination of the wall. "This whole area was covered in maps, articles, notes, all sorts of things. Now there’s not even a scrap of tape. Whoever took it down was thorough and they knew where to find me."

"Who would’ve done that?"

"I don’t know." She kicked the wall a little, "I hate not knowing."

"What was on the wall that they wanted to get rid of it?"

"A theory. A mad, unproven, paper-flimsy hunch." She half turned back to look at John, she looked so lost. "I think he might be alive. And I think he’s coming home." John wasn’t given much time to stand in stunned silence before Lilly tensed and moved closer to the light. "John…"

A gun cocked behind him before she could finish her warning, “Dr. Watson, a pleasure to finally meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the cliff hanger but I left off there the other night and decided to leave it because I finally knew how to end the series


	7. The Final Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thus it comes to a close

"Do try not to make any sudden movements if either of you value your lives," Lilly stopped moving for the light, "Very good. You’re obedient, for a street rat. Must be that survival instinct I’ve heard so much about."

  
“Bite me.” Her tone is light but not without venom.

“Careful now, I only need one of you.”

“What for?” John fought to remain absolutely still, not even turning around to look at who was threatening them. “Who are you?”

“Let’s see if your little friend can guess.”

Lilly turned carefully to face them completely, “Why me?”

“Why not you? You’re the genius here.”

She still looked lost, almost frightened, “Please, I’m-I’m not that clever.”

“I saw your paper wall, I’ve asked around about you, I think you are.”

“Anyone who was paying attention could’ve put together that wall or at least reached the same conclusion.”

“But they weren’t, you were.” In the near-dead silence, John could just make out the sounds of the intruder’s footsteps. No wonder he’d been able to sneak up on them. A cold muzzle pressed into the back of John’s neck, “Turn off the torch, step forward, and turn around. Slowly, of course.” John set his jaw as he complied. “Thank you. Now then, back to the matter at hand.” With the light facing the other way, it as hard to make out any features but the eyes and the gun glinted with every movement. “Come on, what’s so special about you? Show me.”

“Show you mine if you show me yours.”

The other man sighed, almost like he was about to start tutting, “If I wanted cheek I wouldn’t have shot my last informant.”

“If you shot them at all it was because you no longer needed them or they were a liability so I’d imagine they’d be dead no matter how entertaining you found them.”

“Very good. So then why I haven’t I shot you?”

“You said you needed one of us and based on the obvious fact that you took down the papers it must have something to do with Sherlock the question is what?” She was talking fast now, in a different circumstance she’d be moving around, hands flying as they tried to sort out her thoughts. “It’s safe to assume you don’t want people to know he’s coming back, why? Answer: you’re a criminal. It also means you believe he’s alive and possibly that he’s legit despite what the papers have been saying or will have said up till tomorrow morning’s post when all the evidence clearing his name is finally revealed.” She glanced at John’s shocked expression, “Anderson and I have been working on it for months, he’s been trying to clear his conscience by clearing Sherlock’s name. Lestrade managed to pull in the finally pieces last week.” Lilly’s attention snapped back to the gunman, “Now, the criminal population has been split between laughing at him and grudgingly defending him based on their encounters but the main thing here is not that you believed in him but that you believe he is alive and he is coming back. But why? And how did you find me? You’ve given no indication you know who I actually am so my guess is you found me through John. But, the real question is why do you care so much more than the average crook? You’re not regular, you’re something else,” Now her hands were starting to get into it. The right one stayed out to her side where it could be seen, the left was gesturing at the man. “Some _one_  else. The only other person who was so obsessed with Sherlock Holmes that they stalked the people closest to him was a madman,” The grip on the gun tensed and Lilly’s neutral, calculating look broke with a smug grin, “That cinches it. You’re part of Moriarty’s network. One of the higher ups too given the apparently loyalty. If I had to guess, and in this instance it seems I do, I’d say you were his number one. Hello, Colonel.”

“Well done, I’m almost impressed.” The Colonel stepped into the light more. He had the rugged look you’d expect from a soldier but his brown hair had grown out enough it was starting to look reddish as was the stubble along his jaw. The look in his steel blue eyes was unmistakably a killer’s.

“John, meet Colonel Sebastian Moran. I remember the name from when I glanced over Sherlock’s notes on Moriarty’s web. Not sure what happened to those, he was also so careful to make sure they couldn’t be found.”

“You might get the chance to ask him yourself,” Moran said. “You were right, his is coming back, and I heard he’s coming in tonight.”

“From the same informant you shot?”

“See? You are clever.”

Now that she was on a role, Lilly’s mind was running a mile a minute. John could tell she was bursting with deductions. “So who’re you going to use then? As bait?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Sorry,” John cut in, “Did you say bait?”

“That’s the most likely scenario. He said he needed one of us but why? He also doesn’t want anyone else knowing Sherlock’s coming home which is why he killed the informant. That means he’s going to kill us too but he hasn’t done it yet because he’s going to kill Sherlock but he doesn’t know exactly when or where Sherlock is going to arrive in London so he’s going to use one or both of us to draw Sherlock out and then kill all of us.” She took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out through her mouth, “Now the only question is: who’s going to die first?”

”No one’s going to die yet.” Moran smiled, “I think it’s time we all went back to Baker Street. The detective has to show up there sooner or later. And what better than to find Dr. Watson waiting for him. You and I,” He gestured at Lilly with the gun, “Will be upstairs making sure the good doctor doesn’t try to be a hero.”

“It’s brilliant,” Lilly crossed her arms and smirked, the expression a perfect mirror of Sherlock’s, “But you’re not as clever as you think.”

“How’s that?”

“The good doctor was a soldier too, and you forgot to check for concealed weapons.” Lilly darted over to the lantern and turned it on Moran’s face before he could fire.

While he was blinded, she grabbed the gun from John’s jacket and pointed it at the ex-officer. Before she could fire, Moran pointed his weapon at John, “Care to try your luck? Put it down before I shoot him, I only need one of you, remember?”

“Yeah well I don’t need you so you might want to watch yourself.”

“If you really expect me to believe you have the stomah to shoot-” He was cut off by a gunshot that was soon followed by him falling to his knees with a wrenching cry, holding his mutilated hand that had just been pointing a gun at John’s head.

John kicked Moran’s gun out of reach and clocked the other man on the side of the head. He knelt down to examine the hand, using the man’s scarf to bandage it. “Through the wrist, yes?” Lilly asked, kneeling down beside him with the lantern.

“Yeah,” John looked over at her, “You were aiming for the wrist. Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

“Sherlock taught me, back before I developed an extreme dislike of guns. There was a reason he asked me to be at the pool, it wasn’t just to look through a scope.”

“What do we do about him then?” John gestured to Moran.

“I think we should let the cavalry handle him, serves them right for being late.” She looked up at the shadowed tunnel, “I can smell you! Sherlock Holmes have you been smoking again?”

John scrambled to his feet, “What?”

“Hello, John,” The familiar deep voice echoed back to him, “I see you’ve met Lilly.”

Lilly stood, hands in pockets, and cocked her head at the tall figure emerging from the shadows, “You’re a right bastard, you know that? And you look bloody awful.”

His hair was overgrown, there were bags under his eyes, the coat he was wearing had seen a few stitches too many, and there was a bit more than a dusting of facial hair, but it was Sherlock Holmes nonetheless. “Mycroft’s people can take care of Moran, I think it’s time for us to go.”

“Hang on a minute,” Sherlock and Lilly turned to John, “Let me get this straight: you’re not dead, but you’ve been letting everyone who’s ever cared about you think that you are for the past two years?”

“In a nutshell, yes, but I had to, John.”

John started towards Sherlock like he was going to punch him but Lilly grabbed his arm, “Not now, let’s get out of here.”

He stood down but was practically vibrating with fury. Seething didn’t quite cover it. “Mycroft knew?”

“Yes, Mycroft knew.”

“Anyone else?”

“About 25 out-of-town informants who helped me stage it and my parents. That’s it, I promise.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“I don’t know, maybe you can’t, but if you give me a chance I can explain everything.”

“John,” Lilly tugged on his sleeve, like a small child trying to get their parent’s attention, “Come on, let’s go. It’s time to get some answers.” She stooped to pick up the lantern and John took advantage of that moment to surge forward and swing his fist into Sherlock’s jaw. He stepped back, shaking his hand, and Sherlock stumbled into a wall to get his balance back. Lilly sighed, “Happy now?”

“I think I broke something,” John admitted.

“Serves you right. You too,” She added as she passed Sherlock. “Let’s go boys.” They fell into step behind her, each keeping their distance from the other, until they emerged on the streets of London. “To Baker Street then. Let’s try not to wake Mrs. Hudson, it is still 4:30 am.” She linked arms with both of them and they continued on, three in a line. Back at Baker Street, she sent Sherlock to get cleaned up. She pointed John towards the living room and started pulling out stuff for tea but John leaned against the table instead.

“How are you so ok with this?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re acting like you don’t even care.”

“I want answers as much as you do John, but whatever happened on that roof happened because of Moriarty and I told him to leave me out of that.”

“You’re not mad at him at all?”

“Why should I be? I have no one to blame for him not asking for me help but me. Besides, he doesn’t need both of us mad at him.” She put the water on to boil and retrieved the first aid kit from under the sink, “Now sit down and let me see that hand.”  
John sat in his chair but didn’t let the matter go. From the sound of it, Sherlock was taking a shower so they had a few minutes. “How can you be so clinical about it?”

“Reason. Besides, forgiveness is good for your blood pressure.”  
Sherlock joined them in his old dressing gown and was passed a cup of tea. He’d shaved the beard but his hair was still a mess. Lilly sat him down, put the towel he was using to dry his hair around his shoulders, and found scissors and a comb. “Ok, who wants to start?” She started cutting his hair and waited for someone to break the ice.

For a few breaths, the only sound was the snipping scissors. Then John set his tea down, “What happened on that roof?”

They talked through the rest of the night and into the morning, Lilly moving around them as she handled everything else. Occasionally she’d jump in to clarify something with an answer or a question but mostly she let them deal with it their way. When they’d finally finished for the time being, Mrs. Hudson could be heard moving around downstairs and Sherlock went down to greet her. Lilly turned to John, “Still mad at him?”

“Yes but only because he’s still an annoying dick.”

“Yeah,” She grinned, “But he’s home.” She stretched and yawned, “I’m going to get some sleep. You two should do the same if you’re not too hungry.” She curled up on the couch with a blanket and was asleep before Sherlock made it back up.

He walked in holding the paper, “Have you heard the good news? Apparently my good name has been restored.” He held it up so John could see the headline, “Shocking, isn’t it?”

“That would be her doing,” John nodded at Lilly, “Hers, and Lestrade’s, and Anderson’s.”

“Anderson?” Sherlock grimaced.

“Apparently he felt guilty about what had happened.”

“Why would he do that? It’s not like he pushed me off the roof himself.”

“Not everyone’s as rational as you. She blamed herself for not being there, for telling you to leave her out.”

“She couldn’t have stopped it.”

“She didn’t know that. She’s a remarkable girl, and she’s very human despite your influence.” Sherlock gave him a confused, affronted look and John smiled, “You’re human too despite everything. The most human, human being, that I have ever known.” Sherlock’s gaze flickered down, “You heard that then? How many other times were you there?”

“Just the one.”

“You were never there for her?”

“She would’ve known, and I haven’t been back to London in a long time.”

John nodded and stepped forward, wrapping Sherlock in a hug, “Welcome back, Sherlock.” He went up to his room to get some sleep.

When John came down a few hours later, Lilly was awake but still lying on the couch and Sherlock was sitting in his chair. They were both laughing at something but before John could interrupt, Lilly’s phone went off. She glanced at the message, “I’d better go, people are starting to talk and it’s time to spread the good news.” Another message buzzed through, “And yet crime waits for no one.” Sherlock stood and waited as she put on her coat, “I’ll see you later.” She hesitated before throwing her arms around him, “I missed you. Welcome home.”

He returned the hug with as much heart, “Good to be home.”

Lilly waved at John as she left, “Try not to kill each other before I get back.”

“Now what could she possibly mean by that?” John asked.

Sherlock hummed, “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Footsteps running up the stairs made them both turn, “Sherlock!” Lilly called, “I promised John we’d play him that piece you wrote during the Trevor case so make sure your violin is tuned.” She winked at John when Sherlock turned to look at his instrument before disappearing back down the stairs.

“What do you suppose she’ll do if I refuse?”

“She’s your prodigy, you tell me. Breakfast?”

“Starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and questions are always appreciated and encouraged


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